


Scattered in the Abyss

by cloudtreesium



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: For the Love of Shadow Weaver, FtLoSW, Gen, Micah is such a dad, Post Season 5, fixing Angella's mistakes, she's great but there are some things we gotta work on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:09:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24322549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudtreesium/pseuds/cloudtreesium
Summary: King Micah tries to settle back into life as a statesman of Brightmoon. Constantly grasping at the coat tails of Angella's life on Etheria, he finds that there are things - mistakes and unfinished promises - that she left behind. He finds he has to learn to parent again and help his little girl figure herself out, to let go of her need to justify herself at every corner.In hidden corridors of the castle, on nights where sleep is hard to find, he sees the darkness writhe and slither in ways it was never meant to. It has a presence, something familiar and heavy from his past - a sour promise of greatness and victory.---Its a piece about Micah and Shadow Weaver, and their mutual relationships.Updates every Friday. (no update as of June 27, 2020 bc Im v tired, school just finished)
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra), Glimmer & Micah (She-Ra), Micah & Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 56
Kudos: 104





	1. Lurk

Micah frowned at the war table. He supposed now it could be called a strategy table, as there was no war to speak of. An unassuming holo-map showed him a lovely summary of Brightmoon and her surrounding territories. He smoothed his hands over the edges of Angella’s chair and sat in it. He wondered if she, in her darkest moments of longing or grief, reclined in his chair and thought of him, the way he did now.

He remembered the weird dimension – the hole in space where, just for a few hours, everything was perfect. He had Angella in his arms, the feel of her hair, of her lips against his skin, the shape of her body in his hands. He missed the way she would have to more than stoop to kiss him. Sometimes he made no effort to stretch his body taller, knowing it was futile. Mystacorians were short by nature. An extra inch on his toes made no difference. He loved that she found it endearing.

That morning, in the weird dimension, he woke from a dream. He was on Beast Island, fending off starving monsters with his magic. When he woke up, surrounded by soft, castle linens, with Angella's shoulder wedged in his back, it felt natural, like he was meant to be there. The promise of home was the only light he had on Beast Island. It possessed a drive so strong that, when he suddenly awoke in the castle, nothing felt out of place. He had his wife, his Glimmer and his kingdom.

Perfection was not a creature so docile as to stay forever.

Blinding white gashes started tearing the world to pieces and Glimmer left with Bow and a girl he’d never met before. Something changed in Angella’s gaze, as she watched Brightmoon crumble before them. A sadness, unlike anything he’d ever seen or known, sunk into her regal features. She cupped his face with a tender hand and smiled wetly at him. A dark, disappointed feeling engulfed him.

“Micah, I’m so sorry darling. I need to be there for Glimmer. I need to stop hiding here, while she goes off out there - it's not right.” Her hand slipped away and the smile disappeared, “I love you so much.”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead and did not bend further for his lips. She turned from him and lifted off into the sky without looking back. Her wings captured the sun in a pastel rainbow and when he caught sight of a vibrant lavender, suspended on the tip of her wing’s edge, he remembered and the world swallowed him.

Eventually, he had found his way back to Etheria, back to Brightmoon. She hadn’t.

“Dad? Are you in here?” Glimmer’s voice echoed through the empty room. Micah had dismissed his guards much earlier.

He stood from Angella’s chair and welcomed a hug from his princess.

“Hey, baby girl.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“Thinking.”

“About mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“We’ll get through this, Glimmer. She’s still out there somewhere.”

“I guess…”

He hugged her tighter, “I was thinking about something else, too.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“I was thinking we go get ice cream and talk about what happened. So much happened since Adora released the Heart, we hadn’t gotten the time to really… process anything.”

“Ice cream sounds nice, dad.”

“Great.”

Xxxx

“To be honest, dad,” Glimmer said around a spoon of ice cream, “The thing that bothers me the most about this is mom. I thought maybe there’d be a way to find her, with all the technology on Prime’s ship. But Adora sort of… destroyed his fleet.” She sighed, “I just miss her, you know?”

“I know, sweetheart. I miss her too.” He considered something, “I was going to wait to tell you, when I had more of a finished product. But I don’t think that would be fair.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to make a spell. Three spells, actually. Maybe four. It’ll get her back to us.”

“Dad!” A shower of sparkles fell around them as she sprang forward and captured Micah in a hug, “Dad yes! That’s a great idea!”

He laughed. This was the first time he’d seen genuine happiness in her expression.

“How much of it do you have finished?”

“I’ve only just started the research – it’s all very complicated magic stuff. And the spell is bound to be delicate so the more I know, the better and safer it'll be.”

“Can I help?”

“Of course.”

“Yes! Oh and I’ll get Bow to help too! His dads have this huge library _filled_ with old history junk, there’s bound to be something in there. Oh and Adora is _really_ good at organizing and summarizing information – though we might have to distract Catra with something because no doubt she’ll find a way to misdirect Adora’s attention.”

“That sounds great, Glimmer.” He frowned, “But there’s something else we have to talk about first.”

“Sure.”

“I want to take over as the main statesman of Brightmoon.”

She scoffed, like he knew she would, “Dad, I have everything under control. Meetings? Easy. Royal court and general disputes? Not a problem. National celebrations and charity banquette’s? On top of it. I know my way around and I know how to handle things.”

“I know, Glimmer. This isn’t me trying to doubt your ability. But you are only nineteen. And being queen is a lot of responsibility. I’ve seen you, these last few days. You’re always giving advice or delegating tasks - you barely have time for yourself.”

“All the other princesses run their Kingdoms.”

“Sweetheart, do you see that the other princesses have present parental figures in their lives?”

“… no.”

“No. You are a queen now, and that’s a very different playing field than being a princess. Our kingdom is called Brightmoon – the city of light and serenity. People look to us for guidance in times of need. Why do you think it was us who led the rebellion?”

“Your point?”

He put a hand on her shoulder, “I want you to have fun with your youth. Explore the world, have a small piece of your life where you aren’t threatened by the prospect of a war going around you. I want you to go to parties and hang out with your friends. Brightmoon will always be here, when you’re ready to come back and rule.”

“But I am ready!” She snapped.

“You didn’t have a choice, I’m trying to give that to you.”

“Stop doubting me! God, you’re just like mom. _Glimmer! I told you, you’re not ready to be a commander. Oh Glimmer! You’re grounded, how could you be so irresponsible!_ I thought you would be different!”

“Glimmer! There is no need for that.”

“Then stop treating me like… like I'm a kid! I’m an adult now, I can handle myself.”

“Fine, ok. You’re nineteen and you want to take hold of your own agency. But at least let me handle some of the responsibilities. You can give me the ones you don’t like, I don’t mind. A kingdom was never meant to be ruled by one person.”

“… Fine. I’ll make a list when we finish.”

“Great.” _And later,_ he thought, stealing a spoonful of Glimmer’s ice cream, _we’ll have a talk about your need to constantly prove yourself to others. Stars! Angella, what happened?_

“Hey! You have your own! If you wanted strawberry cheese cake, you should have gotten that flavor when we were in the kitchens!”

“Yeah but I wanted cookies and cream at the time.” He reached for more.

“Seriously stop it!” She half chuckled, “You’re gonna spill some on me!”

“But it’s so good! There isn’t any strawberry cheese cake ice cream on Beast Island… or any sort of ice cream.”

“Have it your way.” She vanished in a cloud of sparkles and returned several minutes later with another cup of ice cream, “Here. This is for you. Strawberry cheesecake. Stop taking mine.”

“Thank you, that’s very _sweet_.” He put a spoonful in his mouth.

“Dad joke, ew.”

“It tastes better, when it comes from your bowl.” He frowned.

She elbowed him playfully, “Just eat your ice cream before it melts.”

* * *

The darkness whispered to itself, traded secrets that lasted as long as the winding roads in Dryl. Demons fed on emotions that long since got lost in the grout of the cobble stones. Pieces scattered, trying to find a way to be whole again. They nested in the darkest corners of Etheria; forgotten tunnels buried in the mountains of Mystacor, grasping the underbrush of the Whispering Woods, scurried to the places even Brightmoon’s shining beacon could not reach. Blindly, they reached as far as the shadows allowed, never far enough to burn in the light. They reached and little by little, they found others. They caught each other and held tight enough to never let go. Sometimes they shuddered in odd ways, the echoes of a heart beat and the rush of blood were lost but never forgotten.

Together, though still small, they were stronger. Light no longer burned enough to ignite. The shadows attached themselves to pant hems and satin underskirts. They slithered through skin and fed on necessary evils – pleasure and bliss and ecstasy – until they picked the carcass dry, leaving behind grief and exhaustion and a dull ache. Those who were fool enough to step close enough to the shadows were swallowed alive and spat back out like peanut shells. Usually, those who were fool enough deserved it.

The demons hitched rides across Etheria and continued to find each other. They started to remember themselves – the shape of a finger, the curve of a cheek. It was still not enough.

They remembered, however, that such things take time.

* * *

“King Micah!” A guard rushed into the throne room, “There has been an attack in Estrella square. We suspect it might be a small group of rebels, left over from the fall out of the Hord.” She was followed by a small group of children. Micah was able to convince Glimmer to give him control of general disputes and settlements of the royal court. He eyed the children to make sure they were not injured. They looked distressed.

He sat straighter, “Did they take any hostages?”

“No sire, we managed to get everyone safely. The rest of my squadron took the tunnels and will arrive shortly. I was able to get the children to the castle before they were hurt.”

“What about the rebels?”

“Some of them are being held down in the square but a few escaped. We suspect there might more of them on the way for a rescue opperation.”

Micah stood and summoned his staff. Magic buzzed at his finger-tips.

“Daryn,” he said to another guard, “alert queen Glimmer and her friends. Have them track down the other rebels before they have a chance to leave Brightmoon. Shut down the boarders. Don’t let anyone in and don’t let anyone out.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you remember how to use the distress signal?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Dismissed. Tamina, find a safe room for the children and keep an eye on them. I’m going down to the square to escort the rebels back to the castle.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Micah called on his magic and disappeared in a dark, wispy cloud. 

* * *

Micah arrived in a swarm of shadow and light. He found the rebels, tied together in groups of two and three, gathered in the square and guarded closely at spear-point. The square smelled of ash and terror.

“How many escaped?” he asked General Taryn.

“About five of them.”

“Good work. Glimmer and her friends should be on the hunt for them. Keep the rebels steady, I’m going to transport us to the castle dungeons.”

“With all due respect, my King, Brightmoon does not have any sort of prison cells or dungeons. I know you were gone a long time but surely you did not forget that?”

Micah smiled, “I must be losing myself, in my old age. But, humor a greying man for a moment, will you?”

“As you wish.”

“Thank you.”

Micah wondered at Angella’s actions, once again. There were pieces of her life around him, enough to give him an idea but never enough to grasp a whole picture. He stopped thinking about it, about her. He had to focus if he didn’t want to splice all of these bodies together. The rebels whispered among themselves, hushed by the guards. Birds and small animals moved around the plaza, unbothered by the chaos. He drowned them out and focused on the rhythm of the winds, the slight shadows cast by the clouds in the sky. He drew power from Brightmoon’s magic, from its shadows and from the essence of its people - their laughter that had been cast into the sky, their tears that had absorbed into the ground, their conversations that had stuck to the glue in the wallpaper. He called upon that essence to unite his magic circle and, in a tiny, insignificant way, bring his people closer together. 

He felt it, when the circle illuminated with the final sigil, the way the guards stood sharper and looked to each other for support.

He drew another enchantment in the air, this one was for luck and concentration. He felt the biological imprints of the fifteen people in his circle and distinguished them from each other in his mind. He drew a symbol in the enchantment, one for each of them – a rite of passage, so to speak.

Micah took a steady breath and cast the spell, envisioning in his mind where he wanted to take them. For a few seconds, their imprints brushed against his soul, tethered to him and at his mercy. He pulled them through the gap in the fabric in space and settled them back once they traveled far enough.

“A warning, next time, please my King.” The general groaned.

“Sorry. I’m not quite used to using magic around other people.”

Micah ignited a light spell. The guards and the rebels took in their surroundings. Crystal walls connected the polished crystal floor to the jagged ceiling. Each surface reflecting fractured versions of the Brightmoon guard-robes and the rebel uniforms. Their faces were doused in reflections of iridescent blues and greens and fuchsias.

“Where are we?”

“We are in the castle catacombs. Otherwise known as the prison system. Brightmoon was somewhat barbaric, before Angella became queen. We used to keep prisoners here in the caves and have them mine for power crystals. There’s a collection of them in the armory – well, the old armory. Glimmer made a new one, but the original is sealed away somewhere in the castle.”

“How come we never knew about this?”

“Because Angella didn’t want you to know - she sealed them off from the castle. The only way to enter or leave is by use of magic. She wanted to rule benevolently and peacefully, even during times of war. Her heart was in the right place… but I don’t think the world, or the kingdom, for that matter, was ready for that. Anyway, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you were the cells are and we can show our guests some hospitality.”

Their voices echoed through the bowels of the cave systems. The grand space elevated the noise from their footsteps so that every pace forward sounded like a terrible disturbance.

“You’re not seriously about to get us to mine for crystals.” A rebel quipped. She had large, compound eyes, like those of a fly. Two antennae twitched from the top of her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous. All of the power crystals were mined out centuries ago. After that, they just made the he prisoners think that they were doing something important – It was probably meant to motivate them.”

“Seems kind of cruel.”

“I agree. But I also want to point out that you just committed an act of terrorism. So maybe you’ll want to think about that before you make opinions about the morality of Brightmoon’s leaders.”

“That just makes us the same, then. Why arrest us when you had people out here doing the same sort of stuff?”

“You make a good point. But it might have something to do with the fact that you are directly threatening something that is under my responsibility. Sometimes morality isn’t about who was worse or better. Sometimes it’s about who’s house you break into and from there, it becomes a question of property damage and trespassing.”

She grunted and that’s where the conversation ended.

The group continued in silence, cocooned in cold light and the echoes of their movements.

Micah turned left and they arrived a large room, lined with dozens of cells, all agape, like mouths waiting to be fed.

“Nice prison, _my king_.” Snickered another rebel, “How are you gonna house us when none of the cells even have doors?”

“Glad you asked, kiddo! General, each rebel gets their own cell.”

Taryn nodded and after a lot of struggling on the rebels’ part, each were sealed away with a transparent wall of magic. Some pounded on the wall, testing the strength of their prisons. Other protested, their voices silenced by the barrier.

“The system taps directly into the old magic of Brightmoon.” Micah explained, “Sound can travel in, but it can’t travel out. It’s the strongest stuff in the world. I suggest you catch up on some sleep and eat something – the kitchens will deliver food to you shortly.”

Micah activated the lights in the room and assigned three guards to stay with the prisoners. He left with the general and her second in command.

Occasionally, as they made their way through the cave system, he saw the shadows move in ways they weren’t supposed to. They stayed at the edge of his light spell, testing the boundary between light and darkness. He expanded the spell to distance them. Strange things lurked in the cave systems – creatures and old magic seemed to seep into places of extreme disuse, places with excessive dark corners. Once they reached the surface, they would be safe and Brightmoon’s light would shield them.

Micah was right, of course. The shadows in the surface did not waver or lurch at odd angles. He was also wrong. The darkness he saw in the cave knew Brightmoon’s light almost intimately. In a distant life, it had felt the power of the Runestone, and had let the magic brush against the soul it once had.

The darkness watched Micah for a while – from under his bed, from the corner of his shadow, from the dark creases in his books. It observed and it learned and eventually, it remembered something.

 _She_ remembered something.


	2. Regurgatate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Alternatively titled Rooster Blockade) 
> 
> In which Catra and Adora unashamedly make out in the throne room, much to the guards' dismay. Micah laments his old age and a familiar face returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Hope you're all doing well. I should be studying for a midterm :3

“Well that was easier than I expected.” Catra remarked as Glimmer sealed the last of the cells with her magic. Melog pawed at one of the barriers and chirped when it reacted to her touch.

“Almost too easy.” Adora agreed, powering down.

“What do you think you’re gonna do with them, Sparkles?”

“Mm, I don’t know yet. Probably interrogate them for information.”

“Well, I have some suggestions, if you’re taking any.”

“Noted.” She sounded like she was only half listening.

“Are you guys ready to go? It’s kind of creepy in here.” Her tail flicked.

“Yeah. I’m ready for some lunch, to be honest.” Adora said.

“When are you ever not hungry?”

Adora reddened and punched Catra in the shoulder. Catra chortled, her laughter echoing through the cave chambers. Adora basked in its unashamed cacophony.

“Well, you guys go ahead.” Glimmer sighed, “I think Bow wants to stay a little longer and examine the caves. He says he’s getting energy signals from the deeper parts of the system. Someone needs to keep an eye on him and anyway, only people with magic can open the seal.”

“Maybe you’ll find something useful. Or uncover a potential threat before it can grow too large.” Adora shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Catra considered the two for a moment and frowned. Adora caught the look and saved it for a later discussion.

“ _Come on_!” Catra wined, tugging on Adora’s sleeve.

“Ok, ok! See you guys.”

* * *

The exit from the caves led them up winding stairs that opened into the throne room. Melog’s mane illuminated the space around them. When they reached the top, Adora allowed a gentle pulse of magic to flow from her hand to the ceiling. A panel in the floor slid open, stone grinding against stone, and Brightmoon’s natural light flooded the stairwell.

“After you, m’lady.” Adora winked. Catra rolled her eyes but accepted the chivalry. Her thank you was in the slight upturn of her lips and Adora accepted it with a kiss. The floor closed the gap behind them and the throne room was solid and secure once again.

“Uh, where are you going?” Catra asked when Adora started walking.

“To eat something, obviously.”

“Yeah but the kitchens are in the exact opposite direction. Geez, how hungry are you?”

Adora grinned and took Catra’s hand in both of hers. Nuzzling Catra’s nose with her own, she murmured, “I never said I wanted food, did I?”

“Oh. Then what…” she stopped herself and processed Adora’s heady gaze, “Oh. Oh!”

Adora chuckled and pulled Catra further along, “C’mon.”

“Ok, ok! But uh, I kind of want to know… why now?”

“Really? It’s not obvious?”

“No, it’s really not. I mean, I know I’m irresistible but you’re usually not so… eager?”

“I like watching you fight.”

“Oh, is that it?”

“Mhm.” She pulled Catra closer and punctuated her sentences with kisses, “You’re so agile… and flexible…and quick and clever…mmhm and those claws.” She played Catra’s bottom lip with her teeth, “So rough and angry and beautiful.”

Catra giggled and fisted her hands in Adora’s hair, pulling slightly like how she knew Adora enjoyed, “What else do you like about watching me fight?” She urged. Adora’s praise sparked carnal desire deep in her core but on another level, Catra wanted to know. She wanted to remember the things Adora – great, magical, powerful Adora – thought about her so that she could visit that list in the future, when she needed to feel loved and strong.

“You’re enjoying this.” She teased.

“Obviously!” she dragged her nails across Adora’s scalp. Adora maid a throaty noise and leaned into her touch.

“Do that again.”

“Will you tell me more about what you like about me if I do?”

“Do it again and I will carry you to bed and _praise_ you until you can’t think.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” She scraped her nails against Adora’s head and tugged on her soft golden hair.

“Stars, _yes_!” She stole another kiss and pulled away to drag Catra to their bedroom.

They ran down the halls, giddy and high on arousal.

An explosion rang through the castle.

Adora started to slow down and Catra felt the itch of annoyance settle all over her body.

“Adora, it’s probably one of Bow’s cave gadgets.”

“Yeah… we caught all the Horde rogues, anyway. Its probably fine. Let’s go.”

They set off again with less vibrancy.

Another explosion went off and Adora shivered as a powerful wave of magic washed over the castle. Purple, glowing patterns luminated in the walls.

“That’s Micah’s emergency signal!” Adora gasped.

“That… that’s probably important.” Catra admitted, arms crossed.

Adora kissed her head, “I’m sorry kitten.”

“It’s fine.” Catra sighed, “Besides,” she perked, “You’ll get to watch me kick ass again.”

“Oh my Stars, you’re absolutely right! C’mon!”

“Ah – _hey_!”

Adora scooped Catra in her arms and sprinted in the direction they came.

* * *

Micah sat comfortably in an old chair in the library, a pile of books at his mercy. The enormous, ceiling length windows had been opened and he listened the way the chiffon curtains fluttered in the breeze. The words, too small and somewhat fuzzy, gave him a hard time. He squinted harder, trying to bring the letters into focus. It seemed to work. Until he felt a stabbing pain in his head.

“Ugh!” He snapped the book closed and rubbed his eyes, “I think it’s time, old man.” He admitted to the empty room, “you need reading glasses.”

Lazily, he drew a magic circle on the coffee table and cast a conference spell to Brightmoon’s best optometrist.

 _“Your majesty!”_ the doctor yelped in surprise, _“I was not expecting a call from you at this hour.”_

Micah stared at the doctor's image through his magic circle. He looked old and wispy, but he didn’t appear too preoccupied at the moment. 

“Sorry, Marty. I just want to schedule an appointment.”

_“We have a mail system for that, Sire. I know you’re used to sending sudden calls, from your time here with the rebellion. And I understand the need for such services at such a short notice. However, seeing as there presently is no war happening at the moment, I am kindly going to ask you to send a letter like everyone else and not suddenly invade my privacy whenever you feel like it.”_

“Ah… my apologies, doc.” He said sheepishly.

Marty sighed, _“I guess I can see if I can squeeze you in tomorrow. I’ll send my best pigeon by night fall.”_

“Awesome, really appreciate it.”

_“Goodbye, king Micah.”_

“Cya, Marty.”

He waved the spell away and slumped in his chair.

“Oof, we are old, aren’t we Micah. _You need reading glasses!_ " He glared at the pile of books, "This day could not go more downhill.”

A bright shower of sparks filled the sky beyond the windows.

“Fuck me, I guess. That’s Daryn’s distress signal. Somebody got in.” He sighed, summoning his staff. He struck the base of it twice against the floor and activated the emergency signal.

“How many times do we have to learn the same thing again, Micah?” he muttered as he drew a transport spell, “Never test fate. Never try to assume that all the bad that was supposed to happen in the day has happened if they day isn’t over yet. How many times, Micah, how many?”

The circle glowed around him and he slipped through the fabric of space. The corner of a shadow reached for him and managed to follow through his ring of magic.

* * *

“Incoming, Daryn!” Micah warned as he apparated in the sky and fell towards the small swarm of Horde rebels. Daryn moved appropriately and Micah used the force of his fall to drive a shock of magic through the ground when he landed. He had a simple cushioning spell handy to spare his ankles. The Horde soldiers were moved several feet backwards. They had attacked on the border between Brightmoon’s market district and the surrounding forest.

The bundle of darkness, exposed in the daylight, tried not to stray from Micah’s small circle of shadow. It was difficult, and she lost her grip on Micah when he jerked suddenly to the left. Irritated in the sun, the darkness retreated into the cracks of the road, content to wait. It watched for an opportunity to sink her fangs into something of substance.

Micah tied a soldier up with a barbed rope of dark magic. The more the kid moved, the tighter it wound around him. He smiled when She-Ra warped at super speed and arrived with Catra on her shoulders. Catra used her girlfriend’s force to launch herself at a Horde soldier.

“Where’s Glimmer?” He frowned.

“In the caves with Bow.” Adora explained, “I don’t think you signal reaches down there.”

“Ah, she won’t like that she missed this.”

“That’s a problem for tomorrow! On your left, Pops!” Catra warned, struggling with a rebel a few feet away. Micah reacted to movement in her peripheral and redirected a blow from another soldier. He smiled at her sheepishly.

The darkness stirred in the crevasses of the road and basked in the power that exuded from She-Ra. She wanted to latch onto She-Ra’s great power and _feed_. The power of an entire star resided in that girl. She tried to reach towards it and recoiled when it sparked at her touch. She-Ra’s magic was too unfamiliar and too bright – brighter than the beacon of Brightmoon. She remembered a time when that power was barely between her fingers. Foolish of her to think she could control something so grand. She could barely control herself. She focused on the heavy thrum of Micah’s magic.

This magic was more familiar, something she had been close to a distant lifetime ago. It tasted nearly the same – tart like green apples, earthy like the soil they grew from – except it carried hints of spice, like cinnamon. It was hard to hold onto the scent for long. She barely felt much of anything – she experienced the world in wisps or snap shots, like the way one catches the scent of pie for the briefest of moments as they walk past a bakery. She couldn’t remember what the world really felt like, but she remembered that it was always immersive and warm. She missed it. She excused those thoughts – which were hard to rein in without a skull to contain them – and tried to distinguish the threads of Micah’s magic, tried to discern where the magic extended from his soul, tried to decide where the essence of soul stopped, and the roots of power began.

She listened to the sounds of battle, sounds she had spent much of her life harmonizing with and struggling against. Every foot fall, every strike of weapon against body, every blast of magic – she anticipated all of it. It was hard to fall out of tune with the very thing that destroyed her with meticulous practice, only to suddenly rebirth her from the coldest depths of hell.

“Micah, look out!” She-Ra exclaimed. A Horde soldier, unaccounted for, had sprung from a hiding spot in the bushes and had shot a blast of magic, aimed at Micah’s chest.

Micah, in a reaction born of reflex, cast out a counter spell.

The darkness found it, the piece of Micah’s power that would anchor her back in this world. It surged when he reacted, the way secondary, animalistic instincts took over under the pressure of adrenaline. She sprang from the cracks, withstood the beating sun and attached herself to the underside of his staff. The magic, electrifying and dark and powerful enough to rip her apart, blasted through her puny form and took her with it.

It was not part of the plan, nor was it what she expected but the magic was enough to remind her, enough to ignite a chain of habituated action. She called upon the shadows – limited as they were in Brightmoon’s day – and focused on the Horde soldier. She found the tempo of his heart and let it consume her. Like an arrow tipped in titanium and sharpened to perfection, she pierced through the soldier’s armor, through pale skin and soft tissue and settled in the core of his being. Every cell and cord of muscle, every pocket of fat and every marrow of bone – all of it shuddered in fear and trembled with life. She devoured his soul and consumed his body from the inside out.

The solider struggled on the floor and panicked “Get it out! Get it out! Please!”

“What did you do, Pops!” Catra screeched.

“I don’t know! That’s not the spell I cast!”

“This is why it's a bad idea to use dark magic - you have no idea what you're messing with.

“I am an experienced sorcerer who’s been using dark magic for the past… for most of my life! I know what I'm doing. This... this is something else.”

The soldier’s bones snapped, drawing their attention, and the edges jabbed through from the inside of his skin. From his wounds, blood mixed with the dirt on the street. Darkness poured out of him and engulfed his body. Shadows swarmed together and piled higher until the silhouette of a woman towered before them.

“Oh my fucking Stars! _What is that!_ ” She-Ra gaped.

Micah shot another blast of magic at it. It sunk into her body.

She blinked her glowing, red eyes down at him. She tried to remember how to form words, what her voice sounded like. She made no noise. Gently, she reached down towards a soldier, petrified in fear. Her hand was large enough to engulf his face. Her shadows faithfully consumed and soon, he was nothing but another number in her body count.

Something didn’t feel right. She remembered something was supposed to be different.

Micah recognized that magic, recognized the smell of its power signature – menthol and chamomile, with underlying hints of sulfur. Honey and poison, light and darkness.

“Catra, do you smell that?” She-Ra asked, disbelief coloring her face.

“Is that… _Shadow Weaver_?” Her voice scratched against itself in distress.

_Shadow Weaver._

She remembered that name. It was one among many others.

She remembered these faces. Markings of her life’s greatest accomplishments.

She remembered herself. A woman twice born from death. 

Shadow Weaver gathered her magic and returned the bodies of the Horde soldiers – each in one piece, alive and with but a hazy recollection of what had happened.

“Ok, _that’s_ new. I’ve never seen her do that before.” Catra noted.

She tried to compound herself into a living being, to give herself a new body. But she did not have the strength for it. 

“She needs help.” She-Ra realized. Micah agreed.

“You’re not serious.” Catra crossed her arms and flicked her tail.

“What are we supposed to do, Catra? I can’t just let her die.”

“She wanted to die! You do remember, right? She took some magic from the Heart and sacrificed herself to save use. She died, and she should stay dead. Look at her! She’s barely herself! Besides, we don’t even know if she wants help.” Catra glared at the darkness.

Slowly, Shadow Weaver made herself smaller until her frame resembled the short, frail woman she used to be.

 _“Please.”_ She couldn’t say.

They stared each other down for a moment. 

Shadow Weaver felt herself weaken against the sunlight. The foundations she laid for herself eroded away like sand in an hourglass. Without taking her eyes off of Catra, she sunk to her knees and put her hands together. Then, she angled her face towards the ground. Every action was slow and drawn out, as if it physically caused her great pain. It was the only way she could ask.

“Wow – learning all kinds of new tricks today, aren’t we? What was that saying about old dogs?”

Shadow Weaver waved her clasped hands for emphasis. If she hadn’t been facing the ground, Catra would have seen her eye twitch.

“This is pathetic.” She turned away, “Adora, heal her, or whatever.”

Adora put a hand on Catra’s shoulder, “We’re going to talk about this, I promise.”

“Ok.” She conceded, “Oh, wait.”

“What?”

Catra snaked an arm around Adora’s waste, “Hey, Shadow Weaver.”

The sorceress tilted her head in an expression of interest.

“I wanted to do this while I was sure I had your full attention.” She pulled Adora close and kissed her.

Adora let out a surprised _oh!_ and returned the affection, laughter on her tongue.

“I want you to acknowledge this and I want you to remember it forever. That’s your only condition, if you want to live. You are going to remember this every time you try to pry us apart and turn us against each other. I am never leaving Adora’s side and she will never leave mine. Is that understood?”

Shadow Weaver blinked and nodded once.

“Good.” she winked at Adora, “think you can make that binding, honey?”

“I can try… if anything I’m sure king Micah has a spell for unbreakable promises.”

Micah gave a thumbs up. He was against promise spells for ethical reasons but he couldn't ignore the look of anguish in Catra's eyes. Every rule had an exception.

“Eh, good enough.”

She-Ra approached Shadow Weaver. She looked the opposite of a carcass – all stuffing and no coffin.

“Here we go again. I think my life is just one hundred percent irony at this point. I suppose I get it from you.” She closed her eyes and focused her magic on the cluster of demons in front of her. She-Ra slipped away from Adora and she stumbled from the exertion. Her magic surrounded Shadow Weaver and lifted her from the ground. It wrapped around her like a protective cocoon and when it exploded in a shower of light, it slowly let her down to the ground.

Micah gasped. He had some idea of what demonscars looked like – he had read the scrolls in Mystacor’s rare book reserves – but he hadn’t expected them to burrow so deep and so wide. They looked like tree roots, gnarled and half buried in her skin. He then realized her complete lack of clothes, caught himself and looked away, embarrassed.

“What is wrong with you people?” Shadow Weaver’s deep tones slashed through the tension, harsh and chiding, “You see a nude woman and you shield your eyes? Get me something so I can cover myself!”

“Yeah, that's Shadow Weaver alright.” Catra muttered, “Micah, give the lady your cloak-cape-thingie.”

“Yeah, yep, ok, on it.” He dismissed his staff and unlatched the clasps of his cloak. It was thin, made of satin and cotton threads. It would have to do. At least it wasn’t see-through. He handed it to her and she wrapped herself with it.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It was hard to look honestly into her eyes without his gaze darting to stare at the scars the drilled through her elven features.

“Right ok, let’s go." Catra barked, "This day has just been the absolute worst.” She snapped her fingers at the soldiers, “Horde renegade losers, if you’re interested in _living_ , pay attention. You will stand in King Micah’s magic circle. If you move even _one inch_ , one of two things will happen. Either I claw your eyes out and cut out your tongue _or_ the mean demon lady gets you and you _die_.”

“Enough with the theatrics, Catra.”

“Oh sorry, did I offend you?” She bristled, the hair on her tail rising.

Shadow Weaver glared.

“Both of you quiet – I need to focus.” Micah huffed.

Catra stuck her tongue out at Shadow Weaver and traipsed over to Adora.

“Everybody take a deep breath.” He initiated the spell.

The world warped around them and something tugged before, suddenly, they appeared in the castle's crystal cave systems.

* * *

Shadow Weaver's Demon Form: (hopefully the image works...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you liked the chapter. Even typing a single emoji works wonders for the ol' creativity. Stay safe!


	3. Conceal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bow and Glimmer have a conversation. So do Micah and Shadow Weaver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short but I had a bunch of stuff due for school b/w last Thursday and tomorrow. I think I'll start uploading every Friday but I released this early to blow off some steam.

Glimmer idly traced over her warped face on the surface of a large crystal. Bow’s tracker pad blipped distantly nearby.

“Everything ok?” He asked.

Glimmer sighed. Warm arms hugged her close.

“I guess not, huh?”

“Not really.”

“Talk to me about it.” He suggested, chin resting on her shoulder.

“My dad said something yesterday and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“What did he say?” Bow puzzled. Micah, despite his grizzly appearance, was very agreeable and hardly seemed the type to upset anyone.

“He wants to take over as the main ruler of Brightmoon.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. Upset. Mostly at myself. He doesn’t think I can do it.”

“Did he actually say that?”

“Well – no – not exactly. He said he wanted me to have more time to myself and to not have to worry about any sort of responsibility – well, not more than what’s usually mandated for a princess.”

Bow gently turned her around so he could look at her.

“Glimmer, Micah isn’t your mom. I think he just wants you to have a good time. As long as you’re safe and happy, he’s cool. Most dads are like that.”

Glimmer frowned and considered.

“What is it that _you_ want to do?” Bow tried.

“I… I just want him to know that I’m not a kid or that I'm not capable of doing things. My dad is great, Bow. I like him a lot and I want to love him, too. I want him to love me!”

“Your dad already loves you, Glimmer. I don’t think he would have lasted on Beast Island as long as he did with the thought of you to keep him going.”

“That’s the problem, though. He spent so much time trying to get here and he probably thinks the world of me. What if he expects me to be like mom? What if I disappoint him?”

He kissed away her tears, “Everybody is their own person. I doubt he expects you to behave like your mom – and if he does, then you don’t have to worry about it. You don’t have to do everything in your life for your parents. And it’s ok if what you decide to do isn’t want they want from you.”

“You probably have some experience in that department, huh.” She smiled.

He smiled back and kissed her head, “You should probably talk to him about this.”

“Yeah… Can we go back to the castle now?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. I promise we’ll come back later.”

“Hey, no rush. The caves will always be here. I’m hungry, anyway.”

“We’ll get something to eat, and then after I want to show you something.”

“ _Ooooh_ – a surprise. I like those.”

* * *

Micah dismissed Catra and Adora, who insisted on interrogating the Horde soldiers.

“Tomorrow.” He affirmed, “A lot happened today, we shouldn’t overload ourselves.”

Catra opened her mouth to argue when Adora whispered something to her. Like magic, she conceded. As she left with Adora, Micah helped the guards lock the soldiers away. He checked on the other prisoners and made sure they were given food, water and linens for their beds. He dismissed the guards on duty and sent a message to his off-duty guards to pick up the shifts. He waited for them to arrive.

Shadow Weaver watched Micah at a distance. In the battles leading up to Hordeprime’s takeover of Etehria, Micah had made it perfectly clear that he wanted nothing to do with her. She respected that. The cloak around her shoulders smelled of his magic and the soap he used – a concoction she did not need to know of. 

Her presence disturbed him, she noted, as she watched his fingers draw meaningless shapes in the air, each fading into floating shimmers of magic. She thought about breaking the silence and weighed the probability that Micah would dismiss or ignore her.

“I wasn’t aware that Brightmoon’s guards were versed in magic.” She said anyway.

The shape he was working on burst at the snap of his concentration, as if he had forgotten that she had been standing there. “I convinced Angella to make it mandatory for the guards to spend a month at Mystacor’s academy as part of their training. Casta was able to create a blitz course that they could enroll in. Every ability counts in a war.” 

“Angella banned the magic after you disappeared, it seems. I see she sealed off the prison caves, as well.”

Micah smiled bitterly, “So she did.”

“A bit myopic of her, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

He stared at her in a thick expanse of silence. She watched his eyes trace over the scars in her skin.

“How did you do it – how did you come back? Adora and Catra both saw you die. I personally inspected the ruins myself and I couldn’t find a trace of life anywhere.”

“The Spell of Obtainment bound me to a power beyond the understanding of this world. It became hard to separate myself from the shadows, the longer I lived. The Obtainment magic defined itself in me, in a way. When I died, that power scattered, no longer contained in a host. I can only assume that the Obtainment magic found itself in an attempt to get stronger and gravitated to things that felt familiar, which is how I got to be standing here, talking to you.”

“You would be the one to self-sacrifice on a contingency plan, wouldn’t you.”

“I can assure you that I did not intend to live to see Etheria’s victory. I regret asking for She-Ra’s help.”

“But you asked anyway and, unfortunately, short of killing you, which, believe me, would solve about half of the castle’s emotional confusion, there’s nothing anybody can do about it.”

“I know.”

Micah watched the way her expression dipped into a sad type of frustration. Having never seen her with less than half her face covered, it was an interesting endeavor to watch her process of emoting.

Shadow Weaver reached for the hood of the cloak and made to draw it over her head, to hide her face so that she would not have to stand under the force of Micah’s scrutiny.

“No, don’t do that.” Micah warned gently.

“Am I not entitled to privacy?”

“As long as you are a guest in my castle, you will not hide yourself.”

“Is this a punishment, _King_ Micah?” she raised a brow, venom dripping on the tail-end of her words. 

“Not everything anybody does is an attack on your person, _Shadow Weaver_. I’m doing this because I want you to be better. You, of all people, were given a second chance, which means the Stars saw something in you worth saving. I want to believe that they were correct. I want to believe that there is a person inside you, but it’s hard to do that when I have to look into a cold piece of ceramic and constantly guess at your intentions.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“What clued you in?” he scoffed.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“I don’t know yet.” He admitted. It would be volatile to decide to keep Shadow Weaver in the castle. She had her claws on too many people. On the other hand, it would be irresponsible to let her loose on Etheria. 

She watched the process play out on his face, the way he considered everything carefully – a process he hadn’t lost since his adolescence. She wondered who had trained Micah after she’d left. Shadow Weaver felt a deep pit worm its way through her stomach and she tried not to let it show in her features.

“I wanted something better out of you.” Micah startled her.

“So did everyone else. This is what you’re stuck with, unfortunately.”

“Sure, maybe. But you’re stuck with it too – unless you decide to do something about it.”

She sighed, “When did you get so wise, Micah?”

“I was probably I think… idunno, thirteen – that sounds about right. I had a brilliant teacher who refused to stay blind to the Horde’s destruction on Etheria. I saw the world in her and she was so passionate, about everything. She showed me something I couldn’t ignore.”

She turned away and thought through his words.

They said nothing else and stewed separately, together in the silence.

When the guards arrived, they said nothing still.

They were silent until they reached the guest chambers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a tumblr --> https://shipwreckedshadows.tumblr.com/  
> Check it out for Shadow Weaver and other spop content. 
> 
> Leave a rating out of ten - can be for anything, really. Rating for plot? Absolutely. Rating for grammar/spelling? Also valid. Want to rate it based only on the amount of shiny rocks featured in this chapter? Yep, I'll take it.


	4. Transfigure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shadow Weaver gets a wardrobe upgrade. Glimmer and Bow get word of the Big News and Swift Wind is annoying as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating early again this week bc I have to focus on an another assignment this weekend. In case you missed it last chapter, I have a tumblr (@shipwreckedshadows) - check it out if you feel inclined to do so.
> 
> Enjoy!

Micah led her to a room on the east end of the castle, far enough from the kids and close enough to his own so he could keep an eye on her.

“You can stay here for the time being.” He said, opening the door.

Shadow Weaver took several paces inside and inspected the space. A round, queen size bed, shielded by a purple canopy sat between two elongated windows. To the left, an archway led to an adjoining bathroom. A book shelf, a drawer set, and a vanity lined the walls around the bed. Soft crystal lights dangled from the ceiling.

Micah indicated a pile of folded clothes on the bed, “I found some extra robes for you to wear. Feel free to modify them however you want. There will be a guard to escort you around the castle at all times.”

“Really, is that necessary?” She gesticulated.

“Yes. Feel free to swap the books on the shelves with ones from library. Meals are served in the dining hall three times a day – eight in the morning, twelve noon and six in the evening. But the kitchens are open all the time, as long as you’re willing to cook for yourself. If you need anything, bother me about it. Questions?”

“Am I allowed to leave the castle?”

“With supervision and as long as you behave yourself.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You saw the cells in the catacombs. I think you can put two and two together.”

“Hm.” 

“Well. I’ll leave you to it. Daryn will assist you this evening, until I work out a shift schedule.”

She nodded, and he left.

Shadow Weaver looked down at the pile of fabric, a small tower of reds and blacks. She realized that Micah left before he could take his cloak back. It was probably so that she would be forced to join them for dinner. Before taking it off, she wandered over to the windows. Like all of the windows in the castle, they had no glass. She drew a few symbols on the sills and moved her arms in a sweeping, vertical motion. Etheria’s magic rushed through her body and responded, drawing up two, heavily translucent panels to provide some privacy. She stopped to admire the feel of it, the magic, how it moved through her rather than against her, and she smiled to herself.

She inspected the pile and separated the gown from a set of dark undergarments. She settled the clasps on the chest piece first and adjusted the straps. Looking at herself in the mirror, she noted that the cups were obviously not designed to be compatible with battle armor. They pushed her breasts up and out in a way that made her feel slightly uncomfortable. She fixed them with magic to be less obnoxious. The rest of the material sat loosely against the rest of her torso and she made a few adjustments so it sat snug against her rib-cage.

Next, she slipped on the underwear and unrolled a pair of dark stockings. As they eased up her legs and concealed the markings that marred them, she felt less antagonistic towards the mirror. The dress, colored from red wine, was made in the traditional Mystacorian style. She slipped it over her head and argued with the zipper. Again, she made size adjustments and frowned at her reflection. The dress left her neck exposed and the thick sleeves would melt her in the summer heat. She ripped off the sleeves and used another spell to transfigure them into a high collar that attached seamlessly with the open neckline of the dress.

She found the only dark corner of the room and coaxed the shadows into her fingers. She gently stretched and kneaded them between her hands until they became planes of sheer fabric. After a few tries and ripped threads, she managed to make a pair of form-fitting sleeves and attached them to the dress.

A brush, she found in the vanity, and she used it to fight with the tangles in her hair until she was satisfied. She smoothed the strands back with her hand and went over it with the brush, mimicking the comb-over style she used to wear as a high sorceress in Mystacor. She grimaced at herself. The style left her face exposed and drew attention to the deformities in her eyes. She shook it out and parted it to the side instead. She felt bare without a way to conceal her face, but it would have to do for now.

Shadow Weaver put the brush on the vanity and grabbed the black, kitten heals from the top of the drawer set. She adjusted the heal so that it was wider and shorter, allowing for more balance. Healed shoes were a luxury during the war. They were not practical or advantageous in physical combat but damn if they didn’t make her legs look good.

She cast a look at Micah’s cloak and ignored the urge to look through his pockets. She feared she might lose a finger at the expense of her curiosity. The clock on her wall told her it was four in the afternoon. Shadow Weaver decided she didn’t want to see Micah yet and left the garment in her room. She’d give it back later. The way he looked down on her set a cold feeling loose in her chest and she opted instead to reacquaint herself with the castle and the living world. 

* * *

“Well aren’t you a pretty bird.” Micah cooed at the iridescent dove at his window. He transformed stray pieces of lint into sunflower seeds and offered them in exchange for the scroll tied to her leg. He unraveled the parchment and squinted at it.

“Marty, you know I’m coming in for an eye appointment. Why’d you make the letters so damn hard to read…” he muttered, drawing out a magnifying spell. Two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.

“Great. That’s excellent.” He rummaged around his desk for a pen and wrote a confirmation, “Make sure he gets this.” He tied the note to the bird and pet the crown of her head. “Good bird.”

When she saw that no more seeds were being offered, she lifted away and disappeared among the clouds. It reminded him of Angella and the way she flew through the castle’s open windows and broad archways, her laughter like beckoning bird-song. Sometimes, her feathers would fall if she clipped them too close to a wall or a window frame. He always retrieved them from the ground and wondered at the way they captured the light, soft and translucent between his fingers.

“You know, Micah.” She’d told him once, “it’s good luck to wish upon an angel feather.”

“I already have everything I could possibly wish for,” he’d replied, a hand on the small bump in her stomach.

“We never really know what we want unless we’re truly desperate. The wish is to let the angels in the heavens know that you believe in love and magic, so that when you really need it, they can give you your wish back.”

“So… it’s kind of like an investment?”

“If you want to think of it that way, yes.” She held a feather out to him, “Here, I lost this one this morning, when I vomited in the gardens.”

“That’s really romantic, angel.”

She huffed, “Make a wish, Micah.”

“Ok… I wish for the eternal safety of you Angella, and our daughter, Glimmer.”

She giggled.

“What?”

“You’re using your spell-casting voice, it’s adorable.”

“Should I try again?”

“No, darling, that’ll do. Hold the feather in the sun and let it go.”

“Alright.” He repeated the wish in his head, just to make sure, and released the large feather from his grasp. It tumbled in the wind and dissipated into tiny speckles of magic. He turned to her, “That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“How will I know if it worked?”

“You don’t – you have to believe.”

“Alright, Angella. For you, I’ll believe anything.”

Micah smiled to himself. That feather had gotten him through the hell hole that was Beast Island. It probably was the reason why Glimmer met She-Ra and why Angella was gone but not dead. It had worked, just like his dearest had said.

“I just wish I had another one.” He sighed through the window, “It might help us get you back.” He watched the sky for a few moments before stretching, “There’s still lots to do, Micah. Let’s check on Glimmer and then maybe we’ll go to the library and do some research.”

Micah wandered through the castle halls, humming to himself, a habit he fell out of on Beast Island. Silence had been the backbone of his survival.

He found the talking horse on his way and waved.

“Oh, hey! King Micah! Have you seen Adora?”

“I think she ran off with Catra… but they might be in the middle of something.”

“Perfect! I’ll go bother them!”

“No, wait – Swiftwind, they’re… I don’t think they want to be interrupted. Sometimes, adults, especially ladies, like to be alone together and the Stars will not show mercy if you decide to disrupt that. Besides, they’ll come out for dinner. I’m sure you can wait until then.”

“Well, ok…can I bother you?”

“Eh, sure.” _If it’ll keep you out of Adora’s hair,_ “You can help me find Glimmer.”

“Alright!”

They started down the hall.

“By the way, I liked your song.” Swiftwind said, “We should duet some time.”

“I’d like that.”

“ _Really?_ ”

“Sure. Everybody else in the castle seems to have an aversion to singing – and I refuse to believe that it’s because I’m the one doing it.”

“Yeah, same here! Finally, someone who understands! What songs do you know?”

“Uh, let’s see… I know some old Mystacorian hymns, nursery rhymes… a few Horde chants, uh…I might have a music box from Salineas. I got it a while back when Angella and I toured the seven kingdoms as part of our, uh, marriage ritual. It has a complete set of the ocean’s finest shanties and ballads.”

“Woah! Mind if I borrow it some time?”

“Sure – I know most of them anyway.”

“Oh, this is just the coolest! I’m sorry I didn’t get to know you sooner.”

“Better late than never, right?” He patted the horse’s side, “I wonder where Glimmer could have gotten off to. She wasn’t in her room when I checked, or the kitchens…”

“I think I saw her teleport through the gardens with Bow – there’s a good chance they’re still outside.”

* * *

“You brought us to Shadow Weaver’s greenhouse?” Bow questioned as he looked around. He crouched next to a bush and inspected the blossoms.

“Technically, it belongs to me, since it was the _castle_ greenhouse to begin with, but yeah, we’re in Shadow Weaver’s garden.”

“Ok. Why?”

“It’s easy to think in here. Sometimes I come here when I can’t sleep and I, uh, tend to the flowers. With nobody to take care of them during the battle of Etheria, they nearly withered away.”

“So, you nursed them back to life?”

“It seemed kind of sad to let them die.”

“This rose is literally shaped like a skull.”

“She’s gone, Bow. I don’t think there’s any harm in keeping a small stock of magical plants around. They’re useful for complex spell casting.”

Bow stood and dusted off his pants, “Well, it’s good to know that you found something to keep yourself busy.” He kissed her hair, “I was starting to get somewhat worried.”

“You know you don’t have to worry about me. I even started keeping a log of each plant and its properties – I’ll go get it!”

She disappeared, glitter tickling his skin. She reappeared in his arms, a small book in hand. They found a dry spot among the bushes and sat, Glimmer in Bow’s lap. She opened to the page with that had a small cluster of red-tipped vines.

“Woah, guess those painting lessons actually came in handy.” Bow laughed.

“I know, I’m surprised too! I always hated those stuffy classes, but mom insisted that a _proper_ royal at least have some education in the arts. Honestly, I liked the drawing, but all that stupid theory and historical stuff made me want to shoot my brains out. Anyway, these ones can be used in healing potions. I like using them because they have a nice aroma.”

“Damn, I should get my dads a pot. They’re always complaining about paper cuts.”

Glimmer giggled and continued to show him the notes in her book. Some of the ink blotted in patches where the automatic garden sprays had caught her unaware by accident. Bow enjoyed looking at her little illustrations. Each brush stroke seemed so gentle, compared to her headfirst demeanor. 

“Oh – and these are my favorites.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“They’re silver bells that glow _silver_ in the moonlight.”

“Woah – I’ve never seen flowers like those.”

“I know! They only bloom every other year and,”

“Wait, Glimmer, quiet a second.” Bow put a finger to her lips.

“Why?” She whispered.

“There’s someone else in here – listen.”

Boots pattered lightly along-side clopping hooves. Feathers rustled against each other.

“Glimmer?” A voice called from the entrance.

“That’s my dad.” Glimmer realized. She called back to him, “We’re here, near the lunar graiphs.”

“What are you doing in here?” he asked lightly.

She stood and helped Bow to his feet, “Please don’t be mad.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Because this is Shadow Weaver’s garden.”

“Darling, they’re just plants. Water them, burn them, I don’t care.”

“Wait seriously?”

“Yes, seriously! This _is_ your castle, sweetheart. Do whatever you want – well, ok, not whatever you want, _obviously_ there are certain boundaries – don’t commit crimes, that’s up there on the list, among other things… Anyway, there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it?”

“There was a Horde rebel attack on Brightmoon.”

“What?” Bow reeled, “Is everyone ok?”

“How come you didn’t tell us?” Glimmer fumed.

“I sent out an emergency signal, but I think you guys were in the caves at the time. Because of Angella’s seal, my magic didn’t reach you. There was only about seven of them, I think it was a rescue mission, but they got stopped by Daryn’s border patrol.”

“They’re in the dungeons now?”

“All of them, yes. But there’s something else.”

“What, what is it?”

“Shadow Weaver is back.”

“Fuck, seriously? _How?_ ”

He gave her a look for her profanity, “We’re not sure yet. I’ve already spoken to her. She doesn’t seem to quite know why, either. I’m keeping her under surveillance while she stays here.”

“You’re letting her stay in the castle?” Bow asked.

Glimmer frowned, “She died to save our friends – doesn’t that count for something?”

“Yeah, sure – But what about Adora and Catra?”

“Glimmer has a point, champ. Besides, Shadow Weaver is a hazard to society – it would be irresponsible to let her go at this point. Anyway, since she decided to join the rebellion, she hasn’t _technically_ done anything wrong.”

“Except for being extremely toxic towards everyone in the castle, especially Catra and Aodra, not to mention that she’s a terrible person.” Bow pointed.

“She’s made several questionable… arrangements, but she also gave her life to save Etheria – that’s not something we should ignore.” Micah sighed, “I gave the guards specific instructions to keep her away from Catra and Adora until I figure out something more permanent.”

“Where is she now?” Glimmer asked.

* * *

Shadow Weaver made her way across the castle court yard, ignoring the way Daryn eased behind her like a shadow of her own. The sun cast a certain warmth that blanketed the kingdom in comfort – she secretly basked in the feeling, her features at ease.

The green house was as she’d left it in the battle of Etheria. Her brows raised when she noticed the thick, healthy bushels inside.

“Somebody has been tending to my garden.” She noted.

“Queen Glimmer has taken it upon herself to oversee the greenhouse plants.” Daryn explained.

“How thoughtful of her.”

“Indeed.” He followed her up the greenhouse stairs and into the humid enclosure. Carefully, she inspected the blooms, feeling the soft petals between her fingers. She smiled at the large planter of daisies, still misty from their afternoon watering, and picked one. The stem snapped easily at the suggestion of her fingernails and she tucked it behind her ear. The smell of freshly cut greenery wafted after the severed flower.

“She did a good job with those.”

She moved away from the planter and inspected a bush of marigolds. She felt especially pleased with these flowers – they’d been her decertation project as part of her entrance exam to the sorcerer’s guild. The flowers blossomed like ordinary marigolds. When the flowers fell from the bush, under the right conditions, their petals turned to gold. With no stable source of income, it made for a convenient method of creating currency. It was the only bush that existed outside of Mystacor. Every sorcerer who took the entrance exam, regardless of passage, had to fork over the rights to their creations as test of their allegiance to the guild.

Shadow Weaver had never been a stickler for the rules. She returned to Mystacor shortly after her defection and stole a bush from the forbidden gardens. She worked tirelessly to keep it alive in the wretched wasteland of the Fright Zone. Deprived of proper sunlight, not once did it produce golden blooms. It had been a suicide mission just to retrieve them after she betrayed the Horde and joined the rebellion.

It seemed her life was just a series of defections, as she struggled to settle between her darkness and her light.

She picked a flower from the bush and put it in Daryn’s hand.

“Madam?”

“Keep it. That flower is worth four whole baskets of Brightmoon’s finest apples.”

“Why?”

“Must there always be a reason for everything? I’m trying to be nice.”

“Oh. Thank you.” He put the flower in his uniform pocket.

“You’re welcome.”

“Hey there!” A white horse muzzle emerged from the greenery. Shadow Weaver flinched away from the bush to make way for the rest of the horse body that followed.

“I couldn’t help but overhear you say something about a basket of red deliciousness. How much for the flower?”

“Swift Wind?” She asked. She glanced around the greenhouse. If the horse was here, Adora would surely be with him.

“Ah – you know my name! Funny, considering I’ve never seen you before.”

“Believe me, we’ve met.” Her ears flattened, and she crossed her arms.

“Nah, I’d remember a face like yours.” He moved closer to inspect her.

Shadow Weaver hadn’t thought of the scars since she entered the greenhouse. She scowled, “Elder spirits, from the deepest pits of the underworld. Perhaps I’ll give them a call and you can get acquainted.”

He squinted at her for a long moment.

She glowered back.

“You know what, I think we _have_ met before.”

“What?”

“Oh! Micah will definitely know. He’s really good with faces!”

“Oh, please, everyone knows Micah is terrible at facial recognition.” She argued uselessly.

“C’mon!” He braced his head in the center of her back and pushed her along.

“Hey – no, wait – let me go!” She tried to move but he had the folds of her gown between his teeth. She shuddered – there’d be horse spit all over her skirts. She cast a look of betrayed fury at Daryn, who remained a neutral party throughout the exchange. 

As declared, he brought her to Micah, who seemed to be in council with Glimmer and Bow. When he released her, she dried her gown with the deepest cleansing spell she knew of.

“Guys, look what I found!” Swift Wind announced, “She has magic flowers that are worth all the apples in the world!”

“You always manage to have the best timing.” Micah said to her. He noticed the flower in her hair, “Cheerful.”

She resisted the urge to fiddle with it, “I didn’t intend to interrupt but your equine decided to interfere with those plans.”

“Oh God, you weren’t joking.” Bow whispered.

“What? What’s going on? I don’t get it.” Swift Wind looked between the humans.

Micah shushed him, “Later.”

Glimmer gave her a measured stare and stepped forward, “Welcome back.”

She dipped into a shallow curtsy, “Your majesty. It’s nice to see you in good health.”

The exchange stirred uncertainty into Micah’s stomach. He felt unsure of the way Glimmer approached Shadow Weaver with such a comfortable air. She should be well aware of the effect Shadow Weaver had on others, the way she twisted them and sewed herself into the seams of their consciousness, the way she became a parasite at the roots of their motivations.

“Shadow Weaver, I want to thank you for generous service to the rebellion. And… for saving my friends.”

“Always a pleasure, my Queen.”

Micah’s face turned unpleasantly at the way she addressed Glimmer. He stopped himself from saying anything – Glimmer obviously was trying to establish herself. He would talk to Shadow Weaver about it later.

Glimmer extended a hand to shake, “Please, enjoy your stay at the castle.”

“Thank you.” She took it in both of hers and attempted to smile politely.

Micah thought it jarring.

* * *

Image to reference what she looks like in the cannon of this story:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :) 
> 
> Leave a comment with a random rating out of ten and let me know what you think <3


	5. Starve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Micah's little shrine of research is discovered. Shadow Weaver is, as always, both terrible and adequate in social settings. Catra just wants to know what the old witch is hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something a little longer to make up for the lack of length in the last chapter.

Shadow Weaver excused herself and returned to the castle. She found the library and browsed its contents until she found something that interested her. A few minutes into her exploration, she noticed that several of the books had yellow slips wedged between the pages. She pulled one such book off the shelf and examined it. Most of its pages had yellow paper half glued in the margins, outlining hypothesis and notes. The pages smelled faintly of Micah’s magic and she realized he had used a weak binding spell to stick his notes to the papers. Many of the academy’s upper year students used a similar method to study. It was an easy way to write in the book without damaging it permanently.

She wondered what he was trying to research and closed the book, tucking it under her arm. Slowly, she combed through the library shelves until she had all of the marked books that she could find – which was about ten. She settled herself by the vacant fireplace and dumped the books on the table. She started with one of the thicker volumes, bound in red leather and marked with golden lettering that shimmered as she opened the cover.

“Daryn.” She said, after a few moments.

“Yes, miss?” Daryn answered from where he stood behind her.

“Please, sit down somewhere. I can’t stand your hovering.”

“You are under my surveillance.”

“You can do that perfectly fine from a spot on the couch.”

Daryn hesitated.

“We’ll both feel better if you relax and have a seat.”

“If you insist.” He sat on the other end of the couch, where he could watch the door and his prisoner.

“Thank you, Daryn.” She went back to her book.

Micah appeared to be exploring methods of summoning spells. Most of the incantations and casting circles looked far beyond the complexity mastered by the highest order of sorcerers. Micah was an overachiever in his own right, but she could not recall a time where he was truly motivated to take on such a large task without outside influence. He was all power and no drive. She had to remind herself that such attributes didn’t make him any less smart or capable. Still, this amount of research couldn’t possibly be for his own study. He was after something.

One of the books was different than the rest in the pile. It had a simple black leather binding, with the words impressed, rather than inked, into its ancient skin.

_Physical Properties and Applications of Multi-Dimensional Rifts_

_An Instructional Introduction to the Universe’s Innerworkings_

_By M. T. Rolander_

The patterns in the leather were not native to Brightmoon’s booking practices. The rivet-shaped holes in the corners suggested production in Dryl or one of its surrounding territories. There was a metallic clasp, locked shut and without a key in sight. She rubbed the surface of it with the pad of her thumb, feeling the stippled texture around the key-hole.

“Daryn,”

“Yes, miss?”

“Do you know where I can find the key for this book?”

He shook his head, “King Micah probably has it stored with his things – you’re better off asking him.”

“I see. Thank you.” She put the book back and reached for another.

“Uh, miss?”

“Hm?”

“It’s nearly time for dinner.”

“Is it? Well, I’m not feeling very hungry – you can go ahead if you’d like.”

“Very funny.” He said, flatly.

“You can’t blame me for trying.” She shrugged, “Help me put these books away?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Catra stared up at the ceiling from her place in Adora’s arms

“What are you thinking about?” Adora asked, face tucked into Catra’s side. Her skin had a soft coating of fuzz, which made gave it a soft and comfortable feeling.

“How much its gonna _suck_ seeing Shadow Weaver’s face at dinner.”

“Yeah. I can’t believe she’s back.”

“Why’d you have to heal her?”

“Why’d you say you were ok with it?”

“I don’t know… I felt kind of pressured – there were all the guards, and _Micah_ was there. I just wanted to do the right thing… I guess.”

“Catra, you don’t have to do things because other people want them from you. Who cares? Fuck ‘em.”

“Easy for you to say – you’re the all-mighty She-Ra. It’s literally impossible for you to do bad things.”

“Yeah but since when did you care about other people’s opinions?”

“I don’t know… I just… I want to be good, for you.”

“Ok. Be good for me if you want, not for other people. But…make sure you’re also being good for yourself, too.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good.”

“Why did you heel her?” She asked again.

Adora didn’t answer, “Do you want to eat dinner up here tonight?”

“No. That’s alright. Anyway, I kinda wanted to see what Glimmer and Bow got up to while we were gone.”

“I feel kind of bad. They were in the caves working the whole day and we were up here,” She tilted her head to kiss Catra’s chin, “being self-indulgent.”

“Yeah but also, they did work while we got to spend some quality time in bed.”

“I just said that.”

“But you said it in a way that makes us look bad. Is it really so wrong that I want to be with my girlfriend?” She ran her fingers through Adora’s hair, “Anyway, knowing those two, they probably horsed around more than they actually did anything.”

“True.” Adora removed herself from Catra, “We should probably wash up now if we want to make it on time for dinner.”

Catra refused to let go of her arm, “Oh come on, they won’t miss us if we’re like five minutes late. Besides, it’ll piss Shadow Weaver off.” She put her hands over her face and spread her fingers to make spaces for her eyes, “ _Adora! How dare you show up late for dinner!”_ She mocked in a deep register, “ _I don’t approve in your choice of romantic companionship!_ ”

Adora laughed and fell back into bed, “Alright, just a little longer. But I mean it! After, we seriously have to show up for dinner.”

* * *

Glimmer entered the dining hall and smiled as she saw the plates fill half the seats. Glimmer remembered frost-tipped mornings, where it would just be her and her mother and an endless depth of silence between them. She remembered rapidly chucking food down her throat, so as not to prolong the time she would have to bare her mother’s pensive gaze. She missed her mother, but she did not miss the suffocating way Angella breathed down her neck.

“Do you know what we’re having today?” Bow asked as Glimmer took the chair next to him. He was already sitting near the head of the table.

“No, I decided to leave it a surprise. I’m thinking it’s probably going to be steak and vegetables – it’s been a while since we’ve had that.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“I know.” She laid her napkin across her lap, “When do you have to go back to your dads? I know you said some time towards the end of the week, but you never specified.”

“Oh… uh, probably Saturday morning. They keep bugging me about it and I don’t want to make them wait any longer than that.”

“You seem kind of down about it. Aren’t you excited to see them?”

“I mean, yeah I am. I love my dads. But I also love you, Glimbear.” He threw an arm against his forehead in an exaggerated manor, “I simply cannot live without you, my love!”

Glimmer laughed, “You can contact me with your tracker pad – I still have the one you gave me.”

“I know. I just like to see you laugh.” He kissed the back of her hand. She grabbed his fingers and pulled him closer to place a kiss on his head. They pulled apart when they heard an approaching set of footsteps.

“That’s probably Catra and Adora!” Glimmer said.

“Uh, yeah, not sure about that.”

“Why not?”

“Listen – do those footsteps sound like Catra’s or Adora’s?”

Pristine shoes clipped against the floor, accompanied by the tapping of wide-soled boots.

“Catra never wears shoes – so we shouldn’t be hearing two sets of feet.”

“And they’re usually arguing, so you’d hear them a mile away. Also, I'm pretty sure neither of them wears shoes that sound _that_ delicate. Might be Shadow Weaver – dad _did_ say she was going to join us for dinner today.”

“Huh. I didn’t think she was capable of making noise.”

Glimmer giggled, “Stop, she might hear you.”

The approached the open archway. “This is where we part, miss.” Daryn announced. He saluted the two guards situated outside.

“Thank you, Daryn. Do you remember what I told you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Perhaps on your way, you could return this to Micah?” She indicated the dark bundle of fabric in her hands.

“Certainly. His majesty will be pleased to have his cloak back.” He took it from her, “Have a good evening.”

“Thank you, Daryn.”

She took a seat across from Bow.

“What did you do?” Glimmer asked as Shadow Weaver adjusted herself.

“Nothing life threatening, I can assure you.”

“I feel like you and I have very different definitions of _life threatening_.”

“If you really must know, I gave him a bloom from one of my plants. The petals turn to gold if you let them dry in direct sunlight. There’s no harm in that. But you are the queen; if you feel it is a hazard, you can easily confiscate the offending paraphernalia.”

“I might do that. I’m sure Daryn will understand.” Glimmer challenged. Shadow Weaver’s games would not work on her. A brief expression of intrigue crossed the sorceress’s features before she concealed it with indifference.

“Yes, I’m sure he will – if he wishes to protect the stability of his career. Though, I’m sure his bedridden wife might have something to say about it.”

“What? He never said anything about that! How did _you_ manage to find out about it?”

“I didn’t. But what if he really did have someone at home to care for? Some of us don’t have the same luxuries as you, my queen, and a little extra money is not something to sneeze at.”

Glimmer looked away, embarrassed. 

“What would you know about that anyway?” Bow glared, “You're a prisoner who gets to live in a castle. You have clothes and food and you’re allowed to go where you want.”

“I know a lot more than you ever could.” She snapped, expression glossed in ice.

“Apologize.” Bow demanded.

“I’m sorry?”

“Apologize to Glimmer.”

“Bow, its ok.” Glimmer placated.

“No, it’s not. I don’t care that she kind of has a point, I don’t care that she’s helped the rebellion, I don’t care that she died to protect our friends and Etheria. I don’t care.” He looked at Shadow Weaver, “You need to take a little responsibility for yourself. Volunteer with a non-for-profit organization – rebuild the cities damaged by Horde forces that you no doubt probably had a hand in deploying, join a self-help group, go backpacking in the mountains and find yourself – _I don’t care_ , just own up to the stuff you did and stop treating every interaction you have with everybody like it’s a fucking fist fight.”

Shadow Weaver held a small expression of shock in the widening of her eyes and the slight chasm between her lips. She took a breath and leaned back in her seat, sealing her features with a frosted glower. Bow measured her stare with the heat of a desert sun. Her ears twitched as she picked up approaching footsteps from the hall, laid back and powerful – Micah’s footsteps.

“My apologies, Glimmer.” She said to the queen, “I should not have prodded you in such a way.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

They sat together, tangled in awkward silence.

Finally, Micah arrived.

“Hey dad!” Glimmer brightened.

“Hey, moonshine. Everything alright?”

“Uh, yeah. How are the prisoners doing?”

“Fine. Taryn is doing the interrogation stuff and if she finds anything, she’s gonna let me know.” He looked at their meagre number of table guests, “Where’s Catra and Adora?”

Bow shrugged, “Last we saw of them was this afternoon, when they ran off to get lunch.”

“I’ll ask Daryn to round them up.” He drew a small circle on the table and swiped his finger across it, causing the circle to disappear. “He should get it soon enough. We’ll wait for them. Did you kids have a good day?”

“Yeah it was eventful. We spent most of it in the caves.”

“Sounds interesting! Tell me about it?”

Shadow Weaver tuned out from their conversation and focused on the feeling of the air filling her lungs. Below that, she felt the tremors of hunger in her hollow belly. The Spell of Obtainment stripped any semblance of life from her body. The thick gowns and dark magic hid the way her skin clung to her bones. No sharp planes of muscle, no round curves of fat. Even her hair, once grown from strong, evergreen roots, felt thinner, brittle and frayed. She looked down at her empty plate, at the silverware that lay on either side of it. The last time she ate proper food was before she was cast out of Mystacor. After that, she ate only on two other specific occasions.

The first time happened shortly after she joined the Horde. She joined Hordak for dinner that evening and woke up sick in the middle of the night. Something inside her felt repulsed at the notion of having to swallow substance ever again. The second time was when she was held as a prisoner to the rebellion. Without other energies to sustain herself, the demons started to eat her alive. She forced her rationed meals down three times a day and swallowed the bile that lashed at her decision. It kept the inevitable at bay, until she was able to reach Adora and ask for her help.

She had long since forgotten the gnawing feeling of hunger. After Obtainment, hunger felt like the prickles of fear, a sense of panic that welled inside of her every time she ran low on magic, every time she nearly didn’t make it back to the black garnet to recharge. Hunger meant suffocation, as the shadows crept inwards from the edges of her vision, and it meant pain, as they climbed through her veins to claw at her beating heart.

Now she sat, reacquainting herself with what hunger really meant. It meant thunder in her soul and certain fogginess in her brain that could only be cleared with the presentation of food. The demons inside her tangled restlessly and beneath her skirts, some twined between her legs. Rather than advance and consume her, they sought sustenance with her, like dutiful scouts foraging for their camps.

She thought about what Glimmer’s boy said. Micah said something similar, when they stood at odds in the caves. It was the reason why she chose death in the first place – she didn’t want to have to change. Not again. Not when she forged an identity for herself so ingrained in everybody’s mind that it seemed right to wear it as her own skin. What would she be, if not a wrongfully bestowed beast?

“’Sup, losers.” Catra sang as she entered with Adora. She paused at the foot of the table, assessing where she wanted to sit. There were only two plates left, one beside Glimmer and one beside Shadow Weaver. The youths glanced between one another before Bow and Glimmer stood up. What happened next was the most coordinated execution of a silently determined plan that Shadow Weaver had ever witnessed.

Glimmer switched places with Bow, so that she was sitting next to her dad. Bow went around the table and took a seat next to Shadow Weaver and both Catra and Adora sat next to Glimmer. Shadow Weaver pretended not to notice that this reconstruction of musical chairs was because of her presence.

“Where have you guys been?” Glimmer nudged her best friend.

“Haha – _that_ is a good question.” Adora answered, unhelpfully.

“We wasted the whole day in bed.” Catra said, proudly. She enjoyed the look of distaste that came from Shadow Weaver’s direction. Despite her smile, Catra’s stomach twinged, like it always did when she did something wrong. _This isn’t wrong._ She reminded herself, taking Adora’s hand under the table.

“Gross.” Glimmer wrinkled her nose.

“You’ll understand when your older.” Catra shrugged.

“At least _I_ know not to show up late to dinner.”

“Relax, Sparkles. Besides, we had not one, but _two_ sources of motivation for not wanting to be here – ow, hey!” Adora kicked her shin and shook her head.

“Behave.” Adora chided lightly. _Don’t be the one to start anything,_ Catra understood.

“Anything for _you_ , darling.” Catra stuck her tongue out. 

The staff came out with platters of food. Mashed potatoes, Seasoned and sautéed vegetables and roll of bread were set in the center of the table. They left space for the soon-to-arrive steak. Drinks were poured and the diners visibly relaxed. Arms crisscrossed the selection, putting food in plates for themselves and in plates for others, when they couldn’t reach far enough for the vegetables or the sauce or the bread.

Catra allowed Adora to put vegetables and potatoes on her plate. She also took a roll of bread for herself. She nearly stabbed a bean with her fork when she realized nobody else had started on their own portions. She reserved herself to wait, like everyone else.

“Guys, please, go ahead.” Micah urged, fork in hand.

Catra smiled and tried to engage with her friends, like she always did at dinner. Shadow Weaver’s presence, overbearing and minimalized at the same time, kept drawing her attention away. Shadow Weaver picked at her vegetables liberally before deciding to finally eat something. Catra was no longer the only one watching the crone. 

“What?” Shadow Weaver scowled.

Catra averted her gaze out of habit before she remembered that she no longer had to do such a thing.

Micah, always blunt and unapologetically brazen, looked at the old Weaver with amusement.

“Don’t take it personally, but we’re all so curious.” He alluded, “I don’t think anyone’s ever seen you eat before.”

“Well.” In the absence of anything negligible to respond with, she made a show of putting a forkful of mash in her mouth and gave everyone a meaningful look. She swallowed, “I hope this was an educational experience for everyone.”

They remained silent.

“Was anyone else expecting something… I dunno, _different_?” Adora asked.

“Yeah,” Catra added, “Like a three headed monster was going to pop out from underneath her dress and like, devour everything.”

Shadow Weaver’s ears flattened, and she glared, aware that slitting Catra’s insolence with a snide remark would not be favored in the current company. Catra realized this too, and her grin fashioned itself into something sharp and teasing. Everybody else quickly lost interest as the novelty wore off. Catra, feeling more comfortable about where she stood in this dynamic, paid more attention to her friends. She kept hold of Adora’s hand to remain grounded.

Shadow Weaver happily ignored everybody to slide her vegetables around on her plate. When she caught the scent of stake, hovering from down the hall, her attention reoriented in the sharpest sense of focus she’d ever felt. A memory reached for her and reverberated a sense of de-ja-vu that felt older than she knew herself to be. But she was heavily inclined towards the savory slabs of meat and it faded away again. She quelled the panic that came with this new sensation while her mind pined after the promise of food and her mouth worked overtime to contain itself.

She forced herself to wait until the platter had been placed down and until the others had gathered a piece onto their own plates. She selected a cut for herself and she pierced it with her fork as she eased away a small section with her knife.

The steak tore tenderly between her teeth, the juices brushing against her tongue in a satisfying way she hadn’t known in a long time. It was an effort to eat at a pace similar to the others, but she managed to finish only slightly earlier than everyone else.

The conversation had slowed as everyone gradually cleared their plates. Catra drummed her fingers against the table, lulled away from the way Bow enthusiastically described the crystal caves. Adora could fill her in later. She watched Micah as he turned to Shadow Weaver and attempted to engage with her. She admired the way he simply addressed her, without any apprehension or fear.

“Hey, how come you didn’t eat your vegetables?” She heard him ask, slightly concerned.

“I didn’t want to.” Shadow Weaver shrugged. Catra almost snorted.

“So, why’d you put them on your plate?”

“I was being polite.”

“They’re good for you. I don’t see the point of coming back to life if you’re not going to at least nourish yourself properly.”

It irked her, slightly, the way he showed genuine kindness to everybody – including those that had hurt him. She felt ashamed at such a thought, as it was that same kindness that allowed her to stay in the castle, under the same roof as all the people that had been captured, tortured and nearly killed because of her actions. That kindness was the reason he sat in her company willingly, despite what she had done to his wife.

Shadow Weaver took a breath to even out her irritation, “Not that it’s any of your business as to what my dietary necessities are, but if it’ll console your tender, fatherly heart, I can’t eat vegetables. The meat will sustain me just fine.”

Micah went silent for a moment. Catra turned her anger towards Shadow Weaver again. He had offered her a helping hand she reacted like he’d struck her pride.

“Ok,” He said, after a moment of deliberation, he looked at Shadow Weaver like he managed to solve her weird little game, “at least have two steaks then, if you’re not going to eat the vegetables.”

“If you insist.” Gratitude disguised as indifference. Shadow Weaver said nothing more to him but took another piece anyway. Catra’s brow furrowed. She wanted to know what it was about Shadow Weaver that Micah had somehow figured out. Maybe she was allergic to greens, somehow. She knew it wasn’t going to stop niggling at her until she found out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are doing good. If you liked this chapter, comment with five words something you liked/didn't like. Or leave an emoji :) 
> 
> See y'all next week!


	6. Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Micah ponders his decision to rehabilitate a pair of war criminals. Shadow Weaver gets wet and Melog would make a great therapy cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly forgot to update
> 
> enjoy :)

They flocked to the parlor for ice cream after dinner. Shadow Weaver settled herself in the chair farthest from the fire. The darkness at her back, a danger to most, felt like comfort to her. Memories of Mystacor from long before the Obtainment spell and the sorcerer’s guild, flickered through her mind in a cognitive network of activation that had been in slumber for many long decades. She knew it would be a matter of time before Micah confronted her about dinner.

She listened to pleasant conversation around her, feeling sleepy from the meal. Languidly, she swiped her tongue across the vanilla in her cone.

“Actually, that reminds me,” Glimmer said, twirling her spoon between her fingers, “Brightmoon’s supposed to hold princess prom this year.”

Micah distantly remembered Angella saying something about princess prom, back when Glimmer was just an idea between them. It was like an officiating event, a princess’s first prom. A small flame of anger danced in his chest. He’d missed his baby girl’s first prom, because of Hordak and his associates. The very associates in his company. He asked the stars for strength.

“Princess prom… almost forgot about that.” Catra said. Micah couldn’t look at her.

“How convenient – considering what happened the last time we attended.” Bow reminded her. Catra cringed in on herself, ears flat against her head. Her eyes peaked over at Shadow Weaver, a small accusation and an unspoken delegation of guilt. The sorceress offered nothing more than a shrug and a sigh. They both felt the bridge of understanding that merged their responsibilities together.

Shadow Weaver regret her decision to not split away from the group after dinner. She wished to say something, to confront dirt between her and Catra and the rest of the rebellion leaders. Words eluded her, and she came up with nothing except a feeble apology – something that did not hold enough magnitude to fix the air of the situation.

“I wanted to do something special,” Glimmer said into the awkwardness, “since it’s the first princess prom since the battle of Etheria. Any ideas?”

Several ideas about themes, decorations and activities were pitched and half agreed to.

“We could host a week-long event, to celebrate all of the efforts put towards the war.” Micah said after some thought, “Each day would be something different, with the prom landing on the final day.”

“I suppose we could contact the local inns if we run out of rooms in the castle.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.” He shrugged.

A small frown tugged on Shadow Weaver’s lips. One insufferable night of noxious partying was one thing. She wasn’t ecstatic about spending a week in a castle full of individuals she once considered to be her enemies.

She swallowed the last of her cone and stood.

“I’d love to assist with the planning of the festivities, however, after the day’s… _events_ , I am quite drained. Micah, dinner was pleasant. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no worries.”

She nodded and left without another word. One of the guards followed her out.

When she arrived at her chambers, the guard posted herself outside. She gave the prisoner a once over through the slat in her helmet, neither bothering to exchange words before the prisoner disappeared behind closed doors.

Shadow Weaver basked in the shadows of the room, the daylight no longer present to burn them away. They curled around her, welcoming her presence after the empty hours of her absence. Tenderly, they unlaced her dress and eased the gown from her shoulders so that it pooled at her feet. She stepped out of it, slipping off her shoes and discarding her undergarments on her way to the ensuite. Dutifully, the shadows stowed everything in the closet.

She selected the shower over the tub, wishing to have the dust from the day swept away in a steady stream of water. The water pounded against her scalp, easing into her roots and soaking through to the split ends of her hair. It prickled at her skin in a way that burned, in a way that felt like humanity. It reminded her that there was more to pain than the hunger of darkness that used to dwell inside of her.

Shadow Weaver knew what it meant to be mortal only in the sense that she knew that life only logically progressed to death. She started to remember the finer nuances of mortality as the shampoo felt cool against the burning palm of her hand, as the studs went runny under the water and stung her eyes to tears, stained her mouth with unpleasant bitter taste and perfumed the bathroom in steamy plumes of pomegranate and citrus.

The steam clouded the glass casing around the shower stall, blocking her view of the giant mirror on the opposite wall. Gently, she lathered a soap bar between her hands and passed it over gnarled planes of skin. Her nails scrapped along, leaving temporary while trails of overturned cells in their wake. Gratefully, she leaned against the tiled wall and closed her eyes, allowing the thundering water to wash over her. Her senses must have habituated, as the water burned her no longer. The swirling thoughts in her head finally quieted, now that she had a brain to keep them still and secure. She remained in the shower until her skin pruned and an ache appeared in the heels of her feet.

The towel she used to dried herself removed the water with shaggy, uneven roughness. She rubbed it against her hair and squeezed so that the strands emptied themselves over the bathroom floor. The brush dragged through the tangles, snapping the strands apart and, at times, pulling roots harshly from her head. The goal was not to be coaxing or gentle. She’d rather bask in the new-found raw intensity of stimulus perception.

After Obtainment, she walked undead in a living world. Colours refused to hold vibrancy and food always tasted bland. Not even pain stung as brightly as it did now. Adora hadn’t healed her. She’d spun the threads of her dying soul together and made her anew. Shadow Weaver couldn’t understand it. It was of a magic she might probably never know.

Shadow Weaver dried her hair with a heat spell and neglected to bother with night clothes. The fabric would only snuff away the soapy scent on her skin and she wanted to soak in the fragrance.

She lay in bed and wondered about the stars and her former wards and their decision to bring such a wretched creature back to this beautiful, impartial world. She agreed with Glimmer’s boy – she served only to disrupt the scenery. She was not welcome. She was not liked. She was uncertain in her ability to change, especially after the long years she spent toiling away in the darkness, blinded by her quest for power. Even now, as she contemplated the very source of her plights, she craved the force of power, the rush of lightning in her blood. It was not enough for her to feel the light buzz of Etheria’s free, unconcentrated magic. She wanted to feel magic so raw as to threaten to rip her apart. Her mind flashed to the final battle of Etheria. The darkness erupted, and Obtainment reached its final stage. It leapt like fire and consumed her with euphoria and power. She had laughed as she died, ecstatic at her fleeting form. The limited magic she stole from the Heart only sustained her for meager seconds. Obtainment surged and devoured. Her body ripped away from reality. Somehow, she had stayed.

Perhaps that was the true condition of her resurrection – to live in the knowledge that she would never again feel the certainty of absolute strength. She was to stay three steps from reverence, in the shadows of those who surpassed her in greatness.

Oddly, her mind drifted to Catra, always second best in Adora’s light. In Shadow Weaver’s absence, they managed to change the uneven field and become equals. She marveled at the flexibility of youth, knowing that she would never be able to bend the stiff rods of habitual behavior to the same degree. The heat of her spirit flickered too dimly to disfigure mentality.

Shadow Weaver dismissed the thought. She felt tired after her journey from afterlife. She slept eventually, with clenched teeth and a wrinkle in her brow.

* * *

Micah escorted his girls to their rooms and bid them good night. He wandered the castle halls, his body alive with nervous energy. He knew it would be futile to try and sleep, not after the sour turn of discussion in the parlor. Since Light Spinner’s fall from Mystacor, Micah had become acquainted with nights like this one. Nights where the moon beams trespassed in columns of silk and convinced him the world was woven by impotent jesters.

Sometimes, despite the safety of his castle, he double checked the darker corners and looked over his shoulder more than twice. Fleeting, beady eyes followed him on the edges of his paranoid vison. _They aren’t real._ He repeated. As he crossed in front of the dinning hall, the gleam of something caught his eye. He flinched. He realized it was merely the spoke on one of the ornamental chairs and not the partially hidden maw of a rabid animal.

Micah called his staff into his hand and kept the writings of a stun spell in his forebrain for quick access – just in case. It gave him comfort.

He took the long path to the library, passing Shadow Weaver’s temporary quarters. With an amplified auditory spell, he listened through the door to catch any chance that she might justify the ridged intensity of his bones. He was disappointed – and slightly surprised – to hear loud snoring emanating from her room.

“She snores.” He noted out loud. The posted guard simply nodded in respect.

Micah dismissed his magic and sighed. Shadow Weaver wasn’t to blame for his skittishness. Strength wise, she hardly measured a sizable threat to him. She respected Micah too much to challenge him, anyway. He wished she didn’t. It would make it easier to justify his want to trap her in his magic, to make her understand the suffocation and confusion he felt after she abandoned Mystacor and became the very thing she swore to protect against.

It angered him to no end that she swept the ranks of Hordak’s army, only to remain faithful to his cause – rather than decapitate him in his sleep. Micah hated the implications. It meant Shadow Weaver’s lust for power surpassed every ounce of empathy and loyalty she might have harbored.

Shadow Weaver, once regarded as the most powerful sorceress, was second only to Micah’s power. She had talents in the art of persuasion. She knew how to control people. She could have easily dismantled Hordak’s army.

“But she didn’t.” Micah muttered to himself, out loud so he could remember it better.

A garbled _merow_ startled him and he turned sharply to the other creature in the hall, staff at the read and a hex at his lips. The creature tilted its head and flicked its brilliant blue tail.

“Oh, Melog.” The staff vanished from his hand and pet the large cat, “I’m sorry.”

Melog rubbed himself against Micah’s leg and leaned into his touch.

“Is Catra thinking about me?”

Melog rumbled deeply. His sleek fur parted between Micah’s fingers, tingling his skin with magic.

“It’s about the portal stuff, isn’t it? And about princess prom and the past actions of the Horde.”

The cat chirped an affirmative.

“I can’t do anything about it. Neither can she. She already understands that I need time. But she can still talk to me about anything else. You’ll remind her of that, won’t you?”

He yowled brightly. 

“Good cat.” He stopped petting Melog and continued on his way to the library. The large cat padded behind him. Micah spent hours reading through his books. Melog, aware of Micah hypervigilance leftover from Beast Island, kept a watchful eye from his spot by the couch. Melog’s presence allowed Micah to focus his attention at the jargon infested volumes as he made messy notes in the margins.

Melog yowled when Micah let his eyelids slip. The cat tugged at his pant hem, insistent that Micah go rest.

“You probably won’t stop until my clothes are torn, huh?” Micah yawned. Melog licked his shin. Micah sighed, nodded and stood. With a wave of his hand, the books put themselves away and the lights extinguished on his exit.

He frowned hard when he reached the east wing hall. Despite the obvious moonlight outside the open windows, their silver streams refused the penetrate the darkness in the corridor. The heady and sharp concoction of chamomile and menthol wafted sweetly through the air. As he braced the darkness and neared Shadow Weaver’s door, the sting of sulfur undertones grew stronger.

Like a stain on the wall, shadows spread raggedly from the cracks in her chambers and reached the length of the ceiling. They wrapped themselves around the posted guard in a protective cocoon. The darkness pulses in slow waves, as if to mimic a set of slumbering lungs. Melog, in a cloud of magic, pushed the darkness away from the guard so she could free herself.

“Are you alright?” Micah asked as he pulled her away from the door.

“I… think so.” She inspected herself for any injuries.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was standing guard, like I was earlier when you came to check on the prisoner. After you left, the shadows became darker and a sense of calm washed over me. It put me in a trance-like state, I think. But it was weird – I was living as someone else, yet I had no control over my actions, and I was aware of this. It was a bit like a dream, actually. I woke up when you pulled me out.”

“What did you see?”

“I was a man… a beggar on the streets of Salineas. My leg was badly infected as the result of an untreated injury and I could barely stand on it. For every person who passed me without acknowledging my pain… or my cries for help – I grew angrier at the princesses of Etheria… I felt so much rage, as this man, enough to commit murder, even.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Oh, sir, you know I am eternally sworn to this kingdom.”

“Your loyalties are not being doubted. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“Well, I'm fine now.”

“That’s a relief. Please, I want you to write everything out in a report – any details, even if they seem insignificant. Names, places, people, how you felt, what day it was – anything about the dream. It’s important that I know.”

“Of course, sir, I can do that.”

“Good. Go back to the barracks and have a rest.”

“Sir, what about the prisoner?”

“I’ll take care of her. Report any oddities in your health or behaviors to your superior officer.”

“Yes, sir, thank you.” The guard bowed to her king and left.

“Melog, go with her and stay until she wakes up.”

Melog snarfed and trotted after the guard.

Micah stared into the slumbering darnkess. Tentatively, he reached out to it. Viscously, it swallowed his hand and climbed up his arm. He allowed his magic to illuminate at his fingertips and the darkness leapt away from his skin to hover around the light. Curiously, tendrils of shadow licked at his skin like slow moving fire. Micah released his magic and the shadows enveloped his limb again. Shocks of guilt, greed, loathing and hatred penetrated into his core and he saw flashes of people – a handful of lives he had never lived. He shoved the feelings away to find that the shadows had also taken hold of his leg.

He ignited the magic under his skin and the darkness shrieked away, allowing him to jump free. Quickly, he devised a quarantine spell to line the walls and windows of Shadow Weaver’s room. Without control, her paralyzing darkness would seep into every crevasse of the kingdom. The casting circle illuminated at his insistence. His magic sliced away the shadows and the moon beams slid back into neat slats across the hall.

He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, plush unicorn. It was Angella’s, from when she was small, before she had wings, before she ruled Brightmoon. He remembered the way she put it in his hands and wrapped his fingers around it, her hands around his. It was her wedding gift to him.

_“As the new king, you have a sworn duty to protect our kingdom, Micah.” She said, severely, “For the days that I cannot be by your side to support you, I want you to have the oldest, non-autonomous piece of me. Casta told me that sorcerers often carry a, a totem with them, imbued with their power so they could complete complex spells. I’m not sure what a totem is supposed to be or how a magic user procures such an item… but she told me you didn’t have one yet and… I wanted, well, I wanted to,”_

_He cupped his hands around hers and kissed them, “It’s perfect. Angella, my darling, my angel, it’s perfect.” He leaned up to kiss her and she moved so he could reach her, “I’ll complete the ritual tonight. I don’t have a totem because many of the things I own come tied with… complicated feelings. I wanted to be certain in my totem, so it wouldn’t work against my efforts.”_

_“Oh that’s excellent, you love it.” She laughed, relieved, “I wasn’t sure,”_

_“Nonsense. Like I said, its perfect.”_

The worn skin on the unicorn tingled with its own brand of magic. With his faith in his angel and her love for him, he placed it in the center of his magic circle and it illuminated in soft pinks and white. Vanilla sugar joined Micah’s apple scented magic and worked to clear the pungent left overs of Shadow Weaver’s magic. He continued on to his room, knowing that Angella’s gift, his totem, would keep the magic alive until he dismissed the spell in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Drop a comment and feed my motivation :)


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